Unwanted Relief
by Mrs.RhettButlerorHarryPotter
Summary: I will always love Harry...the guilt and relief of the death of her husband.....god awful sentences that follow...you won't want to read about your hero like this...I never left that hospital...


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. The views in this story are not necessarily the views of the author, they are written this way for the plot of the story.

I will always love Harry.

I just wanted to make sure that was clear to start off. And maybe loving him so much is what makes me feel so guilty, knowing that I had to be the one to do it and only being able to be mad at myself.

I don't even have to look at you to know that there is a highly confused look gracing your face right now. Have you ever felt like you have so much to say and write that if you don't do it quickly or if you stop, even to itch your nose, everything you wanted to say will suddenly evaporate from your mind, and you'll never be able to put it into words again? Well, if you have, then you know exactly how I'm feeling right now, and so I don't need to apologize for my spastic behavior.

Most stories have a happily ever after; a Cinderella story, or some have a dramatic tragic ending; a Romeo and Juliet; however, this literary piece that I am writing today is neither, it is merely a tale of a haunted widow twisted with the guilt and relief of her husband's death.

Now, I'm sure your mouth is wide open in a mix of confusion and horror, and I don't blame you.

Maybe the best place to start would be the beginning, even though I know you're so anxious to get to the part that answers the intense cliff hanger I left you on a minute ago that you'll skim over everything else.

I can picture the faces of those who are aghast, thinking it would be the most horrific crime to skip over even just one word of this masterpiece. So, I'll tell you now, if I were in your place I would skip every god awful sentence that follows. Maybe I say that because I know what those sentences are, and even though I haven't written them yet, I know what they entail. Because I know you won't want to read about your hero like this; but, I didn't read it, I lived through it.

Now that I have set the mood for this story in such a fabulous manner, I feel I should start it before an angry mob with pitch forks comes to attack me. Hey, maybe I still will once you have finished reading this emotional babbling.

As you know, or if you don't then you're reading the wrong story and the "Horrible Harry" series is on the next bookshelf over, Harry Potter is the "Boy-who-lived", the "Chosen One", the "Defeater", and also, and most importantly my beloved husband.

When Harry was a baby a great evil wizard self-named Lord Voldemort came to his house and….blah blah blah…you already know this story…..skipping ahead…the time came for Harry to face this evil wizard for what would be the final time. After many hours of gruesome fighting Voldemort was banished from his body and killed, never to be an annoying parasite ever again.

Unfortunately, while the rest of the Wizarding world celebrated in the streets blatantly exposing themselves to the muggles that were giving them odd and suspicions looks, I was curled up in an uncomfortable hospital chair in St. Mungo's beside my savior of a husband, who happened to be in a comatose state. We had only been married for a few months, he hadn't wanted to get married yet, "we're too young" he said, but I begged and pleaded, telling him that if he died I wanted to have been married to him, to at least have had that memory. Now, it pains me to wish that we hadn't, but I do. If I hadn't been his legal closest to kin, I wouldn't have had to do it. I would have been able to sit back opinion less and yelled and screamed at the person who made the choice, but how can I do that when it was me?

I never left that hospital. My mother brought me food from the cafeteria, which I picked at and ate only to make her happy. Hermione brought me clothes everyday, and a few times she even convinced me to let her help me bath in the bathroom connected to Harry's room, as long as we kept the door open so that I could still see him. Either she or Ron took the night shift after long days at work to sit with Harry so that I would sleep. All of my other brothers did their part as well; but, they all had their own families, some of them in other countries.

Months slowly dragged into years and when the 5th year anniversary dawned, I was approached by several healers who told me; they didn't think he was ever coming out of it. It was getting expensive to keep him at the hospital and on all of the machines. Ron, Hermione and I had several long conversations, but no matter what they said, legally I had the final say. Can you believe it: for once it my entire life, I didn't want the final say?

It took about another month before I finally signed the papers. It felt like I was hiring a hit man; I was telling them to kill my husband. I was a murderer. Why shouldn't I be in Jail?

The worst hadn't even happened yet; because, as soon as the cord was pulled I was overwhelmed with a wave of relief. It was over, no more sitting by his bedside everyday in a room that smelled of two people's body odor. I was freed, and I hated myself for it.

Soon the guilt of killing my husband was overpowered by the relief I felt, and then that was pushed away by the intense guilt I felt for feeling relieved. Do you know how that feels, to have unwanted relief? To feel relief at the fact that your husband is dead and is no longer a dead weight to you? It is the worst emotion known to man kind, and after all I had been through, I had to feel that.

I told the nurse just yesterday, that I was going to write a book, more like a short story about it all; she just smiled politely at me and placed the tray of food on the nightstand beside me. This might hold the record for the shortest story (for adult literature, at least) to be published, but I don't think I need to use a lot of words to describe what I mean, I think you understand exactly the guilt and emotions that are going through me and always will be. After all….

I never left that hospital.


End file.
